Des Erreurs Passee
by Jessica Scott
Summary: Willow leaves after the destruction of Sunnydale and meets an older man.
1. One: Paris, 2003 AD

A/N: This story takes place in the fall after season 7 in the Buffyverse and in no particular time in the Highlanderverse. There will be smut in a later chapter, but I will warn at the beginning of said chapter so it can be skipped and no plot will be missed. There is also some violence in two later chapters. One is basically a recounting of "One Down" from Buffy season 6. The other will pertain to Methos' Horseman days. You have been warned.  
  
More A/N: Most of the stuff pertaining to ancient Greece is just stuff I made up for plot convenience. In fact, I know quite a bit about the original Olympic games and the religious rights surrounding them, but that didn't work for my purposes. The time frame I've placed them in is off, too; same reasoning. Just mentioning this to avoid confusion: chapter titles will tell what time/place the chapter is in. I won't be mixing two times in one chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: (boring recitation mode on) I own nothing in the Highlander or Buffy universes. I have no money for which to sue. To do such would just waste your time. (boring recitation mode off) 

* * *

The small redhead struggled under the weight of her heavy load. She moved quickly, glancing around nervously as she twisted and turned toward her destination. At least, she hoped toward her destination... As the moments passed, she had the sinking feeling that she was getting more and more lost. All of her time back in Sunnydale had not prepared Willow for the challenge she was now undertaking: graduate school.  
  
Shifting her large stack of textbooks carefully, she again glanced at the paper clenched in her hand. She was looking for one of the small lecture halls in La Sorbonne's history building, but the fact that she had been wandering the halls for the past twenty minutes made her feel like she was going in circles.  
  
'Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,' she thought for what had to be the hundredth time since moving to France a month earlier. Shaking her head, she resolved to press on. After the destruction of Sunnydale, she'd made her decision to further her education in order to be of even more help to Giles and Buffy as they sought out new slayers. She had also forfeited her relationship with Kennedy to come here, since the younger woman had thrown a tantrum and stormed out upon receiving the news. She knew she couldn't control how her former girlfriend felt, and it still hurt that she had been so flippant about breaking things off.  
  
But that had been six months ago; now she needed to focus on her time in graduate school. And more importantly, for the moment, on how to find that damn lecture hall. Willow had just rounded yet another corner when something hard smacked into her, sending both her books and herself sprawling across the floor.  
  
The something, which turned out to be a man, began apologizing profusely in French as Willow brushed her short auburn hair out of her eyes and tried to collect her belongings. Once she had them into something resembling a stack again, she attempted to stand. As she did so, her foot caught in her long jade colored skirt and sent her reeling back toward the ground. The man managed to reach out and preempt her fall at the very last moment, and she landed rather hard against his sweater-clad chest.  
  
"Oh, thank you...uh...merci, monsieur..." she stammered. She wasn't quite used to being in a foreign country and hadn't yet adjusted to constantly speaking the native language. As she straightened herself up, she froze. He was gorgeous. His hair was dark and cut short and kind of spiky. His features were angular, yet still soft, with a somewhat prominent nose. And his eyes... Willow felt herself melting into a puddle, when she realized that the man was talking to her.  
  
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Quoi?"  
  
"I asked if you were all right?" he replied in English, his voice laced with a not-quite-traceable accent.  
  
"Oh, yes. I think so. Just too many books. And too many hallways," she answered, her face breaking into a charming smile. "I'm afraid I'm lost, actually."  
  
He returned her smile. "Well, I'm quite familiar with the place; what room are you looking for?" She held out the paper for him to see the room number. "Lecture hall three, is it? I'm on my way there myself; I can show you, if you'd like."  
  
Willow beamed at him. "Thank you, I thought I'd never get out of here." She stooped down to grab her stack of books.  
  
"Here, let me help you with those," he insisted, leaning down and taking three-quarters of the pile. Leading her and glancing at some of the titles he continued, "So you're specializing in history?"  
  
She nodded. "And mythology," she added. "I've been kind of involved in researching myths and their relation to historic events for some time, so I decided to go with what I know." She couldn't help but grin as she talked to him. Something about him made her want to open up, and they chatted comfortably as they walked.  
  
After several twists and turns, they came to a door, and he paused. "Well, this is it," he stated, carefully handing back her books. "By the way, my name is Adam Pierson. I'm a regular around here, so if you need any help, feel free to ask me." He flashed her a smile that made her insides go all tingly.  
  
'Did someone turn the heat on in here,' Willow wondered to herself. Brushing the thought aside, she turned her attention back to the man with her. "I'm Willow. Willow Rosenburg."  
  
"Well, Willow, shall we?" he motioned inward with his hand as he held the door for her.  
  
The door they entered through was to the back, and hall was certainly small. It consisted of only about thirty seats or so, and nearly all of them were filled. Willow spotted two in the back and made her way to them, expecting Adam to follow. As she sat and pulled her notebook out from under the monstrous pile of books, she looked up to see why Adam had not sat down.  
  
To her surprise, he made his way to the podium and began to address the class. She listened as he explained to the students that their professor was not going to be able to make the first month of classes. Adam would be giving the lectures and assignments, and Prof. Lambert would grade them and take over the lectures later.  
  
Adam then began lecturing about ancient Greece. Willow was mesmerized by the way he animatedly moved about the front of the room as he spoke. He had a catlike grace that somehow seemed to fit his lean, lanky frame. She decided that he was definitely easy on the eyes. The sweater he wore -- which from her up close and personal meeting with it she knew to be soft, brown wool -- clung to his chest, hinting at the musculature beneath, and his tight blue jeans left nothing to the imagination.  
  
And the pure wealth of knowledge he exhibited amazed her. He had no notes or books with him; he spoke solely from memory. The way he conveyed information about the events gave the impression that he had actually been there instead of having read about it centuries and millennia later. She was enthralled.  
  
Even as he spoke, watching Willow drew Adam's mind back to a day long, long ago...


	2. Two: Greece, 1003 BC

See chapter 1 for author's notes and disclaimers.

* * *

The sun was high in the blue afternoon sky over Olympia. The stadium was filled to overflowing with the throngs of anxious spectators. While most who watched were men, a great number were unwedded young women who scouted the games for the very best eligible men their country had to offer.  
  
At the moment the short footrace was about to begin. Twenty men were poised at the starting line, their nude bodies glistening in the sunlight. Most were intensely focused on the race about to begin, but one scanned the crowd, analyzing the eager onlookers. He was about to dismiss them all as uninteresting when his eyes fell upon the most spectacular creature he had ever seen.  
  
She was sitting in the second row, mere paces from the starting line. A regal air surrounded her as she perched upon her seat, her pure white gown flowing gracefully about her. The sunlight danced upon her fiery red curls and gave her alabaster skin a warm golden glow.  
  
She turned and looked at him, and as her emerald green eyes met his hazel ones, Methos knew he was lost. In that instant he decided that he would not only win this race, but he would win it for her.  
  
She surveyed the competitors disinterestedly. They were all the same: boring, brutish men just like the ones her father invited to dinner in hopes of finding her a husband. She turned her head slightly to watch the start of the race, and that was when she saw him. He was the last man in the starting line, and he was staring at her. She felt her heart skip a beat as she took in his lean and muscular form, short dark hair, sharp facial lines, aquiline nose, entrancing hazel eyes...  
  
Before she finished her appraisal of this intriguing man, the race had begun. All of the men ran faster than many a warhorse, but the speed of the one who had caught her eye surpassed them all. When he crosses the finish line, he was a good fifteen paces ahead of the rest.  
  
The officials led the winner to a small raised platform before the crowd and placed the crown of olive branches upon his head. The head official announced him to the crowd, "I give you your champion, Methos of Sparta."  
  
As the spectators erupted in celebration, Methos' eyes roamed the stands for his captivating beauty. But she was gone, her seat empty. He sighed inwardly; he had really wanted to... 'What? Impress her? Really...' he thought, 'A 2,000-year-old man needing to impress a teenager. That's ridiculous.' Even as he scoffed at the notion, he knew it was true.  
  
He laughed derisively at himself as he descended the platform and left the stadium, making his way to the temporary competitors' village. The distance between the housing and the stadium was about twice the length of the raceway, and each side was lined with a double row of fine marble columns. The outer set of columns stretched high towards the sky, soaring over Methos' head like old growth trees. The inner set were about waist high for a man and each held the statue of previous games' champions.  
  
As he walked taking in the majesty of the causeway, he noticed a flash of white and red disappear behind a column about ten paces ahead of him. 'So,' he mused smugly, 'I drew her interest more than it seemed.' Methos decided to play with her.  
  
She had no idea where he was. She couldn't hear him, and she hadn't peeked around from her hiding place for fear of being discovered. Her heart pounded, sounding loud in her own ears, as she wondered when it would be safe to come out.  
  
His bare feet made no sound as he crept toward her. When he got to the column, his arm reached around with an uncanny speed and grabbed her arm. He pulled her toward him, and when she let out a shriek of surprise and protest, he quickly clamped his other hand over her mouth.  
  
Methos turned her to face him and began to laugh as her eyes narrowed at him crossly. He removed his hand, and she came toward him menacingly, beginning a tirade about the impropriety of frightening and manhandling young women. This, and the fact that she was a full head and a half shorter than himself, only made him laugh harder. That only infuriated her further. She began to walk away angrily when he composed himself and called after her. "I'm sorry. Wait."  
  
She stopped walking but kept her back to him. "Why shouldn't I go after the way you've behaved?" she inquired, more calm now but still upset with him.  
  
He'd been moving toward the girl and was now directly behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and lowered his head to whisper in her ear. "Because I don't even know your name yet."  
  
He was so close, she could feel the heat radiating off his body, and that, combined with his breath caressing her neck and the sudden realization that he was still very naked, made the temperature seem to rise several degrees.  
  
She tried to speak, but no sound would come forth. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly very dry, and finally got her voice to cooperate with her. "Lykia," she managed quietly, still facing away. "My name is Lykia."  
  
He noticed with amusement the effect he was having on her and decided to continue toying with her. He brought his lips so close to her ear that they all but touched her and introduced himself. "I am Methos."  
  
She stepped away from his grasp to regain control of her senses. "Well, Methos, if I don't go now, I will be late for the Feast of Eros, and I'll miss the dancing."  
  
A puzzled look came over his face. "Only competitors and former champions are permitted to witness the Dance of Eros..."  
  
She smiled slyly, "I'm not going to watch; I'm going to dance." With that she left him standing speechless, and with interesting images drifting through his head...


	3. Three: Paris, 2003 AD

See chapter 1 for author's notes and disclaimers.

* * *

Before Willow knew it, the lecture was over and Adam was standing beside her. "Did I really have nothing to say worth noting?" he teased, motioning to the still blank page in her notebook.  
  
She looked down at it and then back up at him, her face turning the dusty rose color of her silk shirt. She answered him sheepishly. "I got so caught up in what you were saying that I...sorta missed what you were saying," she admitted.  
  
His hazel eyes shone with amusement as he regarded her. "Come have coffee with me, and I'll recap for you."  
  
As she looked into his eyes, something caught her attention. They looked so old, like he had seen so much more than his age could account for. She hesitated before answering him.  
  
As if sensing her uneasiness, he spoke again. "I promise I don't bite."  
  
That made her smile. Coming from Sunnydale, she knew that that was a major plus in his favor. "All right."

#####  
  
And that was how it started. They'd gone for coffee and ended up talking for hours. Through their conversation they realized they had a lot in common with each other. From their knowledge of history and folklore to their shared tastes in music.  
  
They would leave together each day after her mythology class he was guest lecturing for. Even after his stint as instructor was over, he would meet her outside the lecture hall and they would go wherever their feet took them: museums, parks, libraries, movies... Each was the close friend the other had been seeking for quite some time.  
  
It was about two months after their having met and on the return home from one of these outings that something happened to change the course of their friendship. The movie had let out late, around one in the morning. It had been some sort of art film that had left both Adam and Willow less than interested and quite sleepy by the time it was over.  
  
The theatre wasn't very far from the university housing Willow was living in, but Adam insisted on walking her home anyway. 'I don't know why he has to be so paranoid,' she thought to herself as they made their way down a couple of alleys. She was continuing her inner monologue about overgrown male senses of chivalry when Adam suddenly stopped. "What is it?" She asked as he scanned the area, a strange look coming over his face.  
  
As he continued his assessment, he answered in a whisper. "Stay here." He began silently moving past her and forward into the alley.  
  
Confusion played across her delicate features. "Adam, what's going on..?"  
  
He whirled to face her, a dark expression on his face and in his eyes that she had never seen before. "Stay quiet and stay here." It was an order, not a request.  
  
Before she could protest further, a sound in the alley caught both of their attentions. The footsteps were somewhat quiet at first, but they soon got louder. Someone was there, and they were coming closer. Adam used his left arm to push Willow back around the corner from the opening of the alley and reached the other hand into his coat to grip the hilt of his Ivanhoe.  
  
He still couldn't see this unwelcome visitor, but he knew he was there – just out of range of the meager light cast by the streetlamp at Adam's back across from where he'd left Willow. Normally, his sword would have been drawn the instant he'd sensed the other immortal, but if there was any chance he could get away with not dragging Willow into the knowledge of Immortals, he'd try to keep it that way.  
  
The fear and the curiosity warred with one another in the young woman's brain. Eventually the curiosity won out, and she carefully peeked around the corner. At that moment, the stranger stepped into the light.  
  
He was a short, stocky man with dirty blonde hair. He wore jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. He appeared to be fairly well muscled, but the thing about him that drew her attention the most was the yard of glinting metal he held out before him. 'A sword?' she thought to herself. 'Why does this guy have a sword?'  
  
Willow hadn't even begun to answer herself when the man spoke. "I am here for your head." Her eyes widened at his words.  
  
Before she could even process what was going on, Adam had drawn a sword from – well, she had no idea where from, it just seemed to appear – and the two men began circling one another, Adam shedding his trench coat. Once they had appropriately sized each other up, the fighting began in earnest, and they kept up a feverish pace, metal clanging against metal. As they fought, Willow edged closer and closer, until she was no longer hidden from view.  
  
She was within a couple of yards of the two adversaries when the stranger managed a blow that got under Adam's guard and sliced open the tender flesh beneath his ribcage. Willow let out a strangled cry and Adam looked to her, his defenses dropping momentarily. It was all his foe needed. With unerring skill, Adam was disarmed and on his knees in the half lit alley.  
  
"No," she pleaded, shaking her head vehemently. "No, no, no." 'I can't lose Adam.'  
  
The man smiled sinisterly at Willow and spoke. "Why, thank you, my dear." His voice was low and slimy. He raised his sword above his head and prepared to make the stroke that would sever Adam's head from his body.  
  
Seeing what he intended to do, Willow did the only thing she could think of. Her eyes became dark pools, and she began chanting every painful spell she could remember. With a passion and fury she'd barely even let herself think about since the death of her beloved Tara, Willow let loose every power she had access to on the stranger. The confined space lit up with an eerie glow of energy, bright as daylight but much more unnatural. The blonde man screamed with the pain Willow's magic was inflicting upon him.  
  
Adam couldn't believe what he was seeing. He'd experienced magic many times in his long life, of course, but nothing compared to the sheer power exuding from the usually unassuming Willow. His eyes kept darting from his opponent to Willow and back again. The man was convulsing, blood running out of his nose, ears, and mouth. Willow looked inhuman; her eyes were solid black orbs and her skin looked abnormally pale.  
  
In the blink of an eye the man's head was on one side of the alley, his body was on the other, and Willow was slumped on the cold pavement, the display over. Adam managed a deer-in-the-headlights look moments before the Quickening began. The mist rose up from the dead man's body and then the lightening began.  
  
Willow watched in horror as the repercussions of the spells she'd used chose Adam as their target. There were always consequences for using magic, but she'd thought they would be for her, not for him. Lightening wracked his body, tearing violently through his system. He fell forward on his hands and knees, the strength of the energy Willow had thrown into the man overpowering the already weakened immortal.  
  
As the Quickening ended, the force of it and the blood loss got to Adam. Before he could offer any reassurances to the stunned Willow, he fell face down on the pavement and died as she continued to watch in shocked silence.  
  
When she saw his breathing stop she began to crawl toward him. Willow ignored everything else around her, all of her concentration on the lifeless form sprawled out in front of her. "Adam? Adam!" The tears began to fall freely from her eyes, and she grasped at his lifeless body as she sobbed. She still spoke, but most of it came out stuttered and hard to decipher. "No...not again...not-not like Tara...can't leave...I didn't mean it...trying to save you..." She finally sank into a keening wail that spoke of a loss and pain too deep to bear.


	4. Four: Paris, 2003 AD

See chapter 1 for author's notes and disclaimers.

* * *

It was that sound Adam heard when he came back with a shuddering breath. He tried to sit up, since face down on cracked pavement was not the most comfortable position in the world, but an unexpected weight prevented it. Willow had buried her face in his neck where it met his shoulders and was still making that gut-wrenching sound.  
  
"Willow," he tried. "Willow." His voice was louder this time, but her grief drowned out all other stimuli. "Willow!" he bellowed, face still to the ground. It worked. She sat bolt upright and stared at him in amazement as he made his way into a sitting position.  
  
She stared at him in disbelief and carefully reached out a hand to the tear in his sweater where his abdomen had been cut open. There wasn't even a trace of a wound. She knew he shouldn't be alive, and she didn't know how he was, but she officially didn't care at the moment. She threw herself into his arms, her hands fiercely gripping his shoulders and nearly toppling them both over, and did something neither one expected.  
  
Her lips met his as relief washed over her. The action momentarily stunned the newly revived immortal, and he gasped in surprise. Willow took advantage of his parted lips and slipped her tongue inside to caress his. Pleasure replacing surprise, Adam brought his hands up her back to cradle her in his arms and began reciprocating the interesting things her mouth was doing to his.  
  
After several long moments they parted, both breathless and unsure of what had just transpired between them. It was Willow who spoke first, "I thought you were dead..."  
  
"I was," he replied, looking into her eyes for her reaction. Seeing the confusion in them, he changed tactics. "I'll explain it all once we get you home. We want to go before any authorities show up, and we need to get you bandaged up," he gestured to her minor wounds.  
  
Looking down, she noticed for the first time the cuts that crawling on the pavement had caused her and agreed. Lifting Willow from his lap and standing, Adam reached down and retrieved his and the other man's swords along with his own cast off coat and escorted her home. Once there, he went to work with an antibiotic and a good portion of a box of band-aids dressing her cuts while he explained to her about his immortality, the Game, etc.  
  
He purposely left out most of his past; she was the first close friend he'd had in years and he didn't want to throw that away because of things that had happened thousands of years ago. He also remained vague about his age. He trusted Willow a lot, but he never trusted completely, so the usual round of half-truths and omissions were in order.  
  
When his explanations were finished, he could no longer contain his curiosity. "Where did you learn that kind of skill in magic?" he inquired. She told him about growing up in Sunnydale, becoming friends with a Vampire Slayer, fighting demons, and learning about witchcraft.  
  
But she couldn't bring herself to tell him everything. 'He wouldn't want to have anything to do with me if I told him what I did to my friends,' she reasoned to herself. So she stuck to the more amusing stories and the ones less focused on her use of magic once it had turned from necessity to addiction.  
  
The pair talked long into the night, but neither mentioned the subject of the kiss they had shared in the alley. Just before sunrise he took his leave and began walking the half-mile to his apartment. As he thought over the night's events, one hand rose to feel where her lips had been against his own, and he smiled wryly to himself, 'I've had worse nights...'


	5. Five: Paris, 2003 AD

See chapter 1 for author's notes and disclaimers.

* * *

Their routine of going on outings after her class continued after that, but neither brought up what had happened that night after the fight. Both thought about it plenty, but each had their reservations about discussing it.  
  
For Adam, it was the same concern he'd had for millennia. Willow would eventually die, and he would be forced to cope with the loss. He would mourn her passing whether they had an intimate relationship or not, but he hoped the pain would be less this way.  
  
For Willow, it was that she wasn't sure she could trust herself. There had been no one since Tara that she'd really connected to until Adam. Kennedy had been nice, but it turned out that Buffy was not the only slayer with relationship issues. And if she were being totally honest with herself, Willow knew that Kennedy was not on an intellectual or an emotional par with her. But the fear still lingered as to what she would do if she and Adam were to become more than friends and then she lost him. It troubled her even more after her display the night in the alley. It terrified her that she could still be capable of that kind of rage after how horrible things had been in Sunnydale the first time.  
  
It was thoughts like these that made Willow decide that some entertainment was in order. It was late Friday afternoon, not one of her and Adam's usual times to go out, but she really needed the distraction. And from how quiet he'd been the past week, she knew he needed it, too. So she headed to his office.  
  
Quietly cracking his door open, she found him with his back to her and his nose buried in a book. A grin spread across her face, and she silently crept forward, meaning to sneak up on him. Without turning around, he spoke. "Afternoon, Willow."  
  
Her brow furrowed in frustration; she never could surprise him. "How do you do that?" she asked indignantly.  
  
As he turned his chair to face her, one corner of his mouth crept upward. "Vanilla," he stated simply.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your shampoo." His tone was matter-of-fact.  
  
"Oh," was all she could manage when she realized he was correct. Shaking her head slightly, she decided to get back to the reason she'd come. "We need to go out tonight."  
  
His eyebrows rose. "We went out last night."  
  
"I mean to somewhere new. You and I both need a change from our educational trips....and a break from this," she gestured with her hands indicating the office and everything it stood for.  
  
Adam finally put down the book he'd been holding and leaned his lanky form back in his chair as he answered. "What did you have in mind, then?"  
  
"I've heard from a couple of people about a bar not too far from your apartment, Le Sans Sanz." She smiled at him.  
  
"You want to go drinking?" he asked skeptically. She rarely drank and often poked fun at his love affair with beer.  
  
She let out an exasperated sigh. "No, I want to go dancing."  
  
Now this revelation piqued his interest. He'd never suspected her to be the dancing type. "When?" He inquired.  
  
"Pick me up at nine?" She offered.  
  
He nodded his head slightly in assent. "Nine," he confirmed.  
  
Willow's smile lit up the room. She turned, leaving to go get ready, but paused halfway out the door. "This means dressing appropriately. No baggy sweaters or jeans, mister," the redhead ordered.  
  
Adam held up his hands in a defensive manner. "Okay, whatever you say."  
  
She smiled again and left. A grin that could only be described as mischievous spread across his face. 'So she wants to see me in something different, huh?' His smile grew wider. 'This could be fun...'

#####  
  
It was eight-thirty, and Adam was just putting the finishing touches on his outfit; namely fixing his hair. He quickly surveyed himself in the full- length mirror on the back of his bedroom door and smiled. He looked a good five years younger if he did say so himself. Grabbing the black leather jacket he hadn't worn since he'd toured with the Rolling Stones, he left the apartment and made his way down the stairs, slipping it on as he went.  
  
As he climbed into his SUV, he placed his sword within easy reach and began the drive to Willow's. Unbidden, his thoughts again drifted back to ancient Greece...


	6. Six: Greece, 1003 BC

See chapter 1 for author's notes and disclaimers.

* * *

Night had fallen in Olympia and that was when the religious rites of the games took place. The streets around the stadium were filled with revelers who had come to feast and pay homage to the god Zeus. Inside the stadium, the day's seven champions stood around a large fire preparing for one of the most sacred rituals. Behind them many of the games' former champions formed a boundary circle.  
  
Methos and the six other men were all dressed in white, but the light of the flames made their togas glow orange like the setting sun. It wasn't long before the moment they had all been waiting for arrived. A pair of drummers began pounding out a slow, steady rhythm. From one end of the stadium seven shadows seemed to emerge, but as they grew nearer, they could be identified as young women.  
  
They were dressed in gowns of a translucent green fabric that showed the entranced men every line and curve on their young, nubile bodies. As they stared, transfixed, the women entered the ring and began the Dance of Eros. The drum beat gained speed and the dancers followed suit, circling the fire and weaving in and out of the men around it. This was one of the bonuses of being a champion; when the dance finished, before each man would stand the virgin selected for him as reward for his superior skill.  
  
The drums continued their gradual increase in speed as the women, dresses flying, undulated their bodies around the enthralled males. It was then that Methos saw her: the girl from the stands. She was one of the dancers! He prayed to every god and goddess whose name he could remember that she had been selected for him.  
  
The rhythm continued to increase until it reached a fever pitch, the girls gyrating wildly to its pulsing beat. When it seemed as though none present could take the tension anymore, the sound abruptly stopped, and so did the women. Methos realized for the first time that his eyes were closed, and as he opened them, he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His stomach dropped when he surveyed the scene; she was standing in front of the man next to him.  
  
He looked into the hopeful eyes of the blonde standing before him and his mouth went dry. He saw her smile falter for a moment to be immediately replaced with a false cheer. He wanted to apologize, but his mind would not work to form the words. All he could think about were the hungry eyes of the ox beside him ogling the girl with the fiery red curls.  
  
The females began to file out of the stadium in a line. They would go to the sacred baths to be cleansed by the priestesses of Hera before making their ways to their champions' beds. Methos finally snapped out of his stunned state and decided to take action.  
  
While the other men stood around discussing their impending conquests, the immortal made his way to the stable. He mounted his horse and galloped up to the group of women as they drew near the baths. All scattered at his approach, save the redhead, who looked upon him with recognition.  
  
Reaching down his hand to her, he spoke, "Come with me." She looked at him doubtfully. "You can stay and be given to him as an object, or you can make a choice and come with me." He pleaded to her with his eyes. It was about this time that the other men noticed what was going on.  
  
Glancing behind her as she heard her intended shouting in fury at the man on the horse reaching out to his prize, she knew what she had to do. She slipped her delicate hand into Methos' calloused one, and he pulled her astride the horse in front of him. They rode away from the stadium and the shouts of the enraged men.  
  
They didn't stop riding until they reached the sacred olive grove far outside the walls of the city. There they dismounted and made love among the trees until dawn broke...


	7. Seven: Paris, 2003 AD

See chapter 1 for author's notes and disclaimers.

* * *

Coming back out of his reverie, Adam pulled up to the curb in front of Willow's apartment building. 'Doubt tonight will get that interesting,' he mused. Getting out, he climbed the stairs and knocked on her door. When she opened it, his eyes went wide. 'Or maybe it will...'  
  
She had her coppery hair pulled back to keep it out of her face, showcasing the expanse of her neck. Her top was a green silk tank, and as she turned slightly to grab her keys, he saw that it laced up the back, definitively letting everyone know she was not wearing a bra. Her black skirt hung to just above her knees and nearly met the top of her knee-high black leather boots.  
  
Willow made no notice of Adam's appraisal, for she was busy giving him a once over. Her attention was first drawn to his head. 'Is that gel in his hair?' she wondered to herself. Underneath the leather jacket, she could make out a metallic blue mesh fabric that clung to his chest. Looking lower, she nearly passed out in surprise. He was wearing a pair of skintight black leather pants. Were she capable of thinking at that moment, she probably would have wondered why Adam owned said pants, but she was long past coherent thought.  
  
After a few more moments of examining one another, they made their way to his car and headed for the bar. Once inside, Adam immediately shed his jacket onto a chair at a table in one of the back corners. Even though it was early November, the temperature inside the crowded building had to be at least eighty degrees. It didn't take him long to decide that he needed a drink.  
  
Willow had her back to him, surveying the scene around them. The place was packed, with dozens of young Parisians out on the dance floor moving to the pulsing beat of an American dance mix. The sheer noise of the place – music, talking, laughing– was deafening, and the atmosphere was purely chaotic. Willow loved it. She needed a little chaos sometimes to better appreciate order.  
  
Adam came up close to Willow's back and leant his head down to her ear in order to be heard over the din. "You want a beer?"  
  
She first twisted her head toward him as she began her reply. "No," she spoke as she turned herself fully to face him. "That's oka..." her voice trailed off as she got the unobstructed view of his torso now that his jacket had been removed. The shirt she'd only glimpsed earlier turned out to be made of a fine netting that shimmered cobalt in the low lighting of the club. It hugged his chest and arms tightly, and she could clearly make out every curve of every muscle on Adam's upper body. She realized she was staring and that he was still waiting for an answer. She licked her suddenly dry lips as she finished her reply, "Yeah, I think a beer would be good about now."  
  
"You got it." He winked and turned to fetch their drinks. 'Yep, could get very interesting, indeed...'  
  
By the time he returned, Willow had regained her composure and sat perched upon her chair in the corner. Adam pulled out the one next to her and sprawled unceremoniously taking a long swig of his beer. A couple more pulls and he had drained the bottle. That's when she decided to pull him onto the dance floor.  
  
They shook and shimmied and gyrated for hours, pausing only every now and then to grab another beer and take a few much-needed gulps of air. It was after his twelfth and her fifth that Willow saw an opportunity and grabbed it. The song was one by a band she had seen play at the Bronze once, several years ago. They'd apparently become more known by now, and the singer's sultry voice and the slow, sensual rhythm of the tune were perfect for her current mood.  
  
She took Adam by the hand and pulled him from his chair to his feet. Slowly, she began swaying her hips and then the rest of her body, her eyes closing and her instincts taking over. Adam could only stand and watch, riveted by the blatantly sexual movements of her lithe form. Willow turned her back to him, and pressing flush against his body, she could feel his arousal straining towards her. When his hands came up to caress her bare shoulders, she shuddered involuntarily.  
  
As the song ended, she faced him once more and leaned up on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear. "I think it's about time we left, don't you?" she asked in a husky voice. He just nodded mutely and grabbed his jacket as they made their way through the crowd and out the door.  
  
Once they were seated inside his truck, he turned to her. "So what now?" he inquired quietly.  
  
Willow seemed to think for a moment before replying, "I think I just want to go to bed."  
  
Adam's face fell and he turned away rather dejectedly. "Alright," he managed as he started the vehicle, failing miserably to keep the sound of disappointment out of his voice.  
  
Before he could put it into gear, her small hand covered his. A sly smile spread across her face, and he looked into her emerald eyes as she clarified for him. "Adam, I didn't say I wanted to go to my bed."  
  
A silly grin erupted on his handsome face as he pulled away from the curb and headed toward his apartment.


	8. Eight: Paris, 2003 AD

A/N: Okay, this is the smutty chapter. If you don't want to read that, skip to the next chapter (when it's posted) and just think "They made love."  
  
See chapter 1 for other author's notes and disclaimers.

* * *

It was only by pure luck that they made it there without incident. Her hand had made its way into his lap, and the distraction it proved caused him more than once to find himself straying toward the oncoming traffic. As he thanked the gods that he lived so close, Adam absently wondered if she had been planning this the whole time. However, the thought was soon pushed out of his mind by delicate hands tracing circles on his back and abdomen from their new location underneath his shirt.  
  
With shaking hands he unlocked the front door, and entered the darkened apartment. As soon as Willow passed through it after him, he had it closed and had her pressed up against it, trapped between the heavy wood and his muscular body. His lips crushed down on hers, an outlet for his long pent- up need. He kissed and nipped at her lips causing her to moan. She had just begun responding to his kisses when a thought suddenly hit her. She abruptly pushed him away, and his brow furrowed in confusion.  
  
"There's something you need to know before we go any further," she began. She could feel the blush creeping into her face as she continued. She had no idea how he would react to what she had to tell him. "It's been a long time since I've been with a man..."  
  
He shook his head, dismissing it and interrupting her. "It's okay, it's been a long time since I've been with anyone, either." He bent his head to capture her lips again, but she turned her head, preventing it.  
  
"No, you don't understand," she looked into his eyes to gage his response to what she was about to say next, "My last two lovers were women."  
  
He smiled down into her anxious face and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "It doesn't matter to me, Willow." Adam continued, looking her in the eye, "A person loves who they love, and your past makes you who you are. What matters to me is that I want you and that you feel the same way about me."  
  
She let out a sigh of relief and lifted her lips to his. He hungrily tasted her as she opened them to him, his desire returning full-force. His slender fingers caressed the bare skin of her back making her shiver beneath his touch. As Adam's tongue plundered her mouth, Willow arched toward him, pressing herself even closer to his aching body, making him moan at the contact.  
  
His hands shifted their attention to the delicate ties holding her top on, and he began to undo them as she unceremoniously tugged his shirt over his head. Finally exposing flesh, Willow pulled away from the warmth of his mouth and began to lick and nip at Adam's neck and collarbone. His breathing became more labored as his hands came up to caress her newly unveiled breasts, and she whimpered slightly at the contact.  
  
When her small hands began caressing him through the leather of his pants, Adam groaned loudly and began guiding them towards his bedroom while never breaking contact with her. On their way there, Willow had managed to undo the fastenings of his pants and was pleasantly surprised to find him lacking in underwear. When she encircled him in her grasp and began to stroke, he growled and pulled he body flush with his. He then reached behind her to quickly undo and divest her of her skirt and panties.  
  
Left standing in only her knee-high leather boots, Willow let out a squeal of surprise when Adam grabbed her around the waist and behind the knees to carry her over to his bed. Laying her down gently, he slowly unzipped each boot and allowed his fingertips to trail down her legs as he removed them.  
  
Quickly removing the rest of his clothing, he joined Willow on the bed. She ran her hands over every inch of skin she could reach, trying to explore every part of him. His mouth once again found hers and their tongues battled as passions mounted. Using one of his own knees to push hers apart, he settled himself between her legs.  
  
Willow gasped as Adam entered her; she'd forgotten how different making love to a man felt. When he began to move inside her, she moaned in pleasure, her back arching and pressing their bodies even closer. As they moved together in an act older than time itself, Willow's last coherent thought was that no man should be able to make her feel that good...


	9. Nine: Willow's Dream

See chapter one for author's notes and disclaimers.

* * *

Willow awoke to find herself safely ensconced in Adam's embrace. Grinning up at his face she found him smiling down at her. "Good morning, Lykia," he murmured against her red curls, pressing his lips to her temple.  
  
Placing a soft kiss on his throat, she didn't even give a second thought to the name he'd called her, nor to the one she used when she responded. "Good morning, Methos." Looking up at him once more she marveled at how gorgeous he looked when the sunlight shone against his now tousled hair. 'Wait...sunlight? We weren't outside...and his hair isn't that long...' questions began to bombard her thoughts.  
  
Apparently not noticing the frown that now graced her features, Methos released her and moved to cover himself, handing Willow her dress as he did. 'A toga?' She then turned her attention to the garment in her own hands. Finally her brain registered the names they had called one another. Realization dawned, 'It's a dream...or memory. My mental barriers must have slipped.'  
  
Before she could muse on this revelation any further, the shouting of voices drew her attention. Several men on horseback had entered the clearing in what she now recognized to be an olive grove. They quickly circled the pair, and Methos had his short bronze sword held before him, trying (and failing) to keep Willow shielded with his own body.  
  
With alarming speed, the men advanced and it wasn't even until she felt warmth on her chest that she realized she'd been stabbed through the back. The pain was terrible, and the sight of a gleaming bronze point sticking out from her ribs made her want to vomit. She cried out in pain as the owner of the sword twisted it sharply, inflicting as much damage as possible, before withdrawing it.  
  
Blinking once, Willow found herself looking down at the body of a girl with the same red hair as herself. It was like an out-of-body experience, except that wasn't her body. She determined that her dream had shifted from first-person to third-person, and she watched in horror as the men not engaged in battle with Methos hacked at the girl's body until it was no longer recognizable as a human being. Her ancient Greek was somewhat rusty, but she found she could make out the words 'bitch' and 'whore' as the men spat on the mangled corpse.  
  
She heard a scream filled with rage and turned to watch Methos dispatch his attackers with inhuman speed and accuracy. Soon the clearing was covered in blood and bodies, and Willow's dream-self sank to her knees as she watched Methos inflict the same dismemberment on the men as they'd done to Lykia. She gasped after catching a glimpse into the eyes of the only living being left before her. His eyes flamed with pure unadulterated hatred and bloodlust. He was a terrible sight, covered head to toe in blood and gore, as he mounted his horse.

#####  
  
The dream jumped and she found herself in a square in Olympia. It was now night and buildings were ablaze all around her. Methos was running around like a madman, hacking at everything that moved. Men, women, children. It didn't matter; he killed them all.  
  
Slowly, a rider on a black horse approached, and Methos' head rose to meet the man's gaze. Whereas she would have felt great fear to encounter the eyes that the rider stared into, the strange man with the scar down his eye threw his head back and laughed. The cruelty of it made her shiver in disgust.  
  
Methos approached the horse and stared at the man levelly as he began to speak. "Well, well. I'd come to see if you could be persuaded to reconsider my offer, but it looks like you've given me my answer, hm?"  
  
A maniacal glint appeared in the rider's eyes as he dismounted, and Willow decided that he was most definitely insane. He held out an arm parallel to the ground, palm facing down. Methos mimicked the gesture and stepped toward the man so that their palms rested on one another's shoulder. "Welcome, brother," the insane man offered.  
  
With a smile that sent chills of revulsion down her Willow's spine, Methos responded. "Yes, brother."

#####  
  
Willow jumped again, and she found herself face down on the back of a horse, watching sand go by as she painfully bounced along. Soon the dizzying ride stopped, but what came next was no better. Strong hands roughly pulled her from the animal's back and threw her forcefully onto the burning hot sand.  
  
She tried to take in her surroundings, but the brightness of the sun left her blinded. A shadow appeared over her, and she found herself looking up into the face of, well...Methos. His hair was much longer and very unkempt, and the blue war paint covering half of his face highlighted the planes and angles, making him a fearsome sight indeed.  
  
He reached down and none-too-gently hauled her to her feet, dragging her along beside him as he made his way towards a tent. With his much longer stride, she had to run to keep up. When they reached the tent, she found herself once again thrown to the ground like baggage. Reaching down to her, he grabbed the neckline of the simple dress she wore with both hands and pulled in opposite directions. The flimsy fabric ripped apart leaving her naked before him.  
  
Willow moved her hands to cover herself the best she could, but was rewarded with a vicious backhand across her cheek. Gasping in pain, she looked up into eyes filled with hate. His voice was as hard and cold as steel when he spoke, "You stay alive as long as you please me."  
  
Before she could even think, she found his body covering hers and his powerful hands harshly squeezing and pinching her most sensitive places. When she cried out in pain, he slapped her again. One of his hands moved out of sight and she heard cloth moving. Suddenly she felt the worst pain she'd ever felt in her life, excluding times doing certain spells. The tears streamed down her face as he brutally raped her. She screamed again and again as the torture continued.

#####  
  
When the horrific dream finally ended, Willow awoke with a harsh intake of breath, covered in sweat and shaking violently.


End file.
